Unless you've been hiking on Bouvet Island for several months, you are probably aware of the royal wedding of Prince William and Catherine Middleton.
In the last several days, I have read opinions ranging from unashamed Anglophile devotions to blanket denouncing of the entire British realm. I have heard the happy couple revered as socially aware and infinitely philanthropic. I have also heard suggestions that they are ridiculously extravagent and totally inappropriate in celebrating their nuptials while the world faces crisis after crisis. Frosting these comments was the assertion that we should not give a crap about them, because they would never give a crap about us, unless it somehow affected their income.
First, let me proudly say my veins run with British blood. My grandfather emigrated to this country at the age of 16 from Bath, England, fought with the allies in WW1, and made his home in Michigan. 25% of my genetic makeup is steeped in good, strong tea.
I grew up revering the monarchy long before I could recognize the political disproportion of the institution. I didn't care about nonrepresentative government or parliamentary unrest. I didn't see the aloof disdain for the commoners, and the layers of separation between the rulling class and the working class. There was a QUEEN, for God's sake, and princes and princesses and castles and carriages-- this is the stuff of fairy tales!!! All the history, pageantry, beauty. Like generations of little girls, I imagined being a princess, and marrying a prince, and living happily ever after (and may I say as an aside, that dream came true in its own very real and perfect way). At its most basic, this wedding, for me, was just a fun celebration of that fairy tale, that dream, that glitter frosted vision. The music, the guests, the bridesmaids, the men in uniform, oh MY! Westminster Abbey has never looked so beautiful, and still paled in comparison to the bride as she floated down the aisle to meet her prince. Lighten up, people, it's a ROYAL WEDDING!
It saddened me to see reality lived out with Charles and Diana. They were a couple practically doomed from the start by differences so vast that one wondered what ever brought them together, outside the royal desire to see the prince finally wed to someone--providing a positive shine for the tarnished image of the monarchy. Their two beautiful boys made their public struggles even more tragic--how could you not love those impish little mischief makers whose adorable smiles shined under public scrutiny? All grown up now a delightfully handsome, those same little boys are the faces of the future of the monarchy. They are also the most "real" royals we have ever met. Both are serving with pride and hard work in the armed forces, on the front lines, respected by superiors and those they lead. The future king chose as his bride a "common" woman by royal terms, but uncommon in her ability to charm and endear them both to the people. Their request for charitable giving in lieu of wedding gifts is admirable. Their residence is not a palace, but rather a house in the country. They're happy, relaxed, and in LOVE!
A year ago, I visited in the sitting room of my cousins in Bristol. The British people are well aware that their monarchy is without much real power. The Queen, at 88, is respected as intelligent, shrewd, and steady. They are figureheads, their roles more social than political. While the government in Great Britian fights the ever-present battle to balance the left and the right, the Royals stand as somewhat antiquated quardians of the crown jewels. The changing of the guards is coming, and the generation of William and Harry think much differently than do their parents and grandparents. It shows on the faces and in the actions of the newlyweds. It shows in how they conduct themselves as leaders in their country. That's enough to keep me hopeful that "happily ever after" can be more than a fairy tale.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
The perfect vacation
Vacations come in a wide range of colors, sizes and shapes. Some are so well planned that they cannot possible go wrong. Others are spur-of-the-moment wanderings which somehow go surprisingly right.
This one was perfect. First, let me say that it is hard not to enjoy a week when the only variation is the weather is how many little white puffy clouds are blown across the azure sky by the ocean breeze. 90 degrees hardly seems hot when one is laying by the pool or strolling the crystal beach. And while we did plan the occasional outing, much of the time was spent--especially by the girls--lounging poolside in the sun, kicking out a ridiculous amount of reading, and tanning as only the Seibt women can. That means much sunscreen was slathered, and we all burned anyway. Especially the porcelain-skinned Princess Rebecca.
We were able to spend a good deal of time with the grandpa we don't often see. The guys spent many a morning with dad, meeting a couple hundred of his closest friends and doing all that "guy stuff." There was fishing, and boating, lumber yards, car repair, and numerous meals with familiar waitresses who delight in meeting more charming Seibt men. There were late family meals from the grill eaten on the patio with a good wine or a cold beer, sunset ocean cruises to find the dolphins, Key Lime pie created by the island man himself.
There was time with the Naples grands as well, driving the golf cart and playing cards in the heat of the day. Delightful to see Grandma's friend Rose and catch up with her family news, too. A wonderful concert by the Naples Philharmonic of Frank Sinatra music which turned out to be a little Sinatra, a nod to the Italians, and a LOT of opera--GLORIOUS!
20 years ago there would not have been a cell phone. In retrospect, perhaps we should ALL leave our cells at home for the next trip. There was certainly enough contact to throw an occasional hiccup into our holiday bliss, what with the continuing familial drama on any given day. Would I have been better off not knowing what was going on up north? Realistically, being out of the loop is probably as hard as being in. And God knows the kids would be shaking with the DT's after two days of tech withdrawal.
Yep. 8 days spent doing very little, in a wonderful location, with the people I love most. Rest, relax, read, renew, recharge, rewind. The ultimate week of R&R (&R&R&R&R). It might not have achieved total and permanent bliss, but it sure took a huge edge off a tremendously bad winter, and gave me back a smile.
When can we go again?
This one was perfect. First, let me say that it is hard not to enjoy a week when the only variation is the weather is how many little white puffy clouds are blown across the azure sky by the ocean breeze. 90 degrees hardly seems hot when one is laying by the pool or strolling the crystal beach. And while we did plan the occasional outing, much of the time was spent--especially by the girls--lounging poolside in the sun, kicking out a ridiculous amount of reading, and tanning as only the Seibt women can. That means much sunscreen was slathered, and we all burned anyway. Especially the porcelain-skinned Princess Rebecca.
We were able to spend a good deal of time with the grandpa we don't often see. The guys spent many a morning with dad, meeting a couple hundred of his closest friends and doing all that "guy stuff." There was fishing, and boating, lumber yards, car repair, and numerous meals with familiar waitresses who delight in meeting more charming Seibt men. There were late family meals from the grill eaten on the patio with a good wine or a cold beer, sunset ocean cruises to find the dolphins, Key Lime pie created by the island man himself.
There was time with the Naples grands as well, driving the golf cart and playing cards in the heat of the day. Delightful to see Grandma's friend Rose and catch up with her family news, too. A wonderful concert by the Naples Philharmonic of Frank Sinatra music which turned out to be a little Sinatra, a nod to the Italians, and a LOT of opera--GLORIOUS!
20 years ago there would not have been a cell phone. In retrospect, perhaps we should ALL leave our cells at home for the next trip. There was certainly enough contact to throw an occasional hiccup into our holiday bliss, what with the continuing familial drama on any given day. Would I have been better off not knowing what was going on up north? Realistically, being out of the loop is probably as hard as being in. And God knows the kids would be shaking with the DT's after two days of tech withdrawal.
Yep. 8 days spent doing very little, in a wonderful location, with the people I love most. Rest, relax, read, renew, recharge, rewind. The ultimate week of R&R (&R&R&R&R). It might not have achieved total and permanent bliss, but it sure took a huge edge off a tremendously bad winter, and gave me back a smile.
When can we go again?
Friday, April 8, 2011
I am my father's daughter
I've been trying to write a note about dad for a couple months now. Not normally at a loss for words, I had trouble. But today dad seems closer, and it seems a little easier. It's a start.
Dad died two months ago to the day. It was not a "good death" in hospice terms, at least physically. So, in the days after his death, along with the grief and loss, there was also a sense of relief that his suffering was over, and he was in a much better place. Throughout his life, dad was firmly faithful in what I think of as an old-school, Wisconsin Lutheran, God-fearing-hell-and-damnation way. How glorious it must be for him now to know the eternal, gentle love of the Lord and Savior.
Over the past few years, dad declined in health and wholeness. There were signs of confusion, dementia. There was profound depression. And there was a marked physical loss of strength and mobility born of joint degeneration and pain, and forced inactivity. It angered him, and made him difficult to live with. It was difficult for all of us to watch the man who was the patriarch of such a large family slowly brought down by the realities of aging and multiple health challenges.
It's easy to keep these later-years scenes at the forefront of memory, and lose the man of my youth. The Wild Bill dad, legendary in the tales told by my older brothers of their childhood adventures and forays into mischief, rarely able to deceive the man who seemed to have eyes everywhere. The father who taught us all the importance of shooting straight, both with a rifle, and in life. The man remembered by hundreds of people who came to his visitation to share their stories, and their love. The larger than life dad, whose hunting adventures, card-playing genius, and bourbon drinking revelry included 4 generations of family and friends. The protective dad, ever worried about his only daughter, ever ready to stand between me and harm, to bail me out, and always just a little flummoxed as to what to DO with a girl! Dad had opinions, advice, expertise, and a lot of love, and he shared them all generously with those around him. That's the dad who shaped who I was, and who I was to become.
Which brings me to vacation. You see, dad was a planner. Whether it was a family trip, a yearly hunting expedition, or a Sunday afternoon drive, dad anticipated every possibility, made plans and provisions, then could not wait to get up and go!!! Today, we leave on a little family journey of our own. It's a vacation I've looked forward to for weeks, especially after the last several months. I am not the planner my father was. I am much more willing to fly by the seat of my pants, take a little detour if need be. But when my eyes popped open at 4am, and I was up like a kid at Christmas, I had to think of dad. He'd have been right beside me with the keys in his hand. And as I pack the car--an invaluable skill I learned from a man who was genius in his ability to get the maximum luggage in minimal space--I will remember the dad who shaped the heart in which he will always live on. And I will smile.
Dad died two months ago to the day. It was not a "good death" in hospice terms, at least physically. So, in the days after his death, along with the grief and loss, there was also a sense of relief that his suffering was over, and he was in a much better place. Throughout his life, dad was firmly faithful in what I think of as an old-school, Wisconsin Lutheran, God-fearing-hell-and-damnation way. How glorious it must be for him now to know the eternal, gentle love of the Lord and Savior.
Over the past few years, dad declined in health and wholeness. There were signs of confusion, dementia. There was profound depression. And there was a marked physical loss of strength and mobility born of joint degeneration and pain, and forced inactivity. It angered him, and made him difficult to live with. It was difficult for all of us to watch the man who was the patriarch of such a large family slowly brought down by the realities of aging and multiple health challenges.
It's easy to keep these later-years scenes at the forefront of memory, and lose the man of my youth. The Wild Bill dad, legendary in the tales told by my older brothers of their childhood adventures and forays into mischief, rarely able to deceive the man who seemed to have eyes everywhere. The father who taught us all the importance of shooting straight, both with a rifle, and in life. The man remembered by hundreds of people who came to his visitation to share their stories, and their love. The larger than life dad, whose hunting adventures, card-playing genius, and bourbon drinking revelry included 4 generations of family and friends. The protective dad, ever worried about his only daughter, ever ready to stand between me and harm, to bail me out, and always just a little flummoxed as to what to DO with a girl! Dad had opinions, advice, expertise, and a lot of love, and he shared them all generously with those around him. That's the dad who shaped who I was, and who I was to become.
Which brings me to vacation. You see, dad was a planner. Whether it was a family trip, a yearly hunting expedition, or a Sunday afternoon drive, dad anticipated every possibility, made plans and provisions, then could not wait to get up and go!!! Today, we leave on a little family journey of our own. It's a vacation I've looked forward to for weeks, especially after the last several months. I am not the planner my father was. I am much more willing to fly by the seat of my pants, take a little detour if need be. But when my eyes popped open at 4am, and I was up like a kid at Christmas, I had to think of dad. He'd have been right beside me with the keys in his hand. And as I pack the car--an invaluable skill I learned from a man who was genius in his ability to get the maximum luggage in minimal space--I will remember the dad who shaped the heart in which he will always live on. And I will smile.
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